Pinkie Promises
by graysonsgurl
Summary: Dean takes all his responsibilities seriously; however, the most important thing to Dean Winchester is taking care of his sickly, younger brother, Sammy. And Dean would do anything for Sammy-even something as simple as fulfilling a pinkie promise. Warning: No happy endings to be found here!


Author's Note: I hope you enjoy this! Reviews would be awesome!

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters; if I did this show would have gone a lot differently. I'm merely borrowing them for the time being.

Warnings: ExtremelySick!Sammy. This does NOT have a happy ending. Be warned.

Dean Winchester took his responsibilities seriously. The most important of everything he had to do was take care of Sam. His mother had died in Sammy's nursery due to a fire and John had handed Sam off to Dean that night. That was the night that Sam officially became Dean's.

Dean loved Sam—loving his baby brother was easy. All you had to do was glance at the small child with the floppy brown hair and hazel puppy dog eyes and you'd immediately become enraptured in his charm. And not only was his cuddly, cute brother extremely intelligent, but, in general, Sam was as innocent as one could get. The fact that Sam had was an extremely sickly child—the doctors had said it was most likely a result of unlucky genetics combined with the complications of the fire when he had been a baby—was unfair. Often enough, Sam couldn't even leave his own bed. So Dean had become accustomed to sitting with the squirt and comforting his baby any way he could. Most times all Sam wanted was his attention—contact with his brother as well as just talking always went a long ways with Sam. When Dean was feeling particularly nostalgic he would tell Sammy stories from a lifetime the little boy would never remember.

"Dean," Sam had asked him hesitantly one day as he cuddled with his older brother. Dean gently swept the hair out of his face and let his brother nuzzle his neck.

He nudged the five year old gently and Sam looked at him with tear-filled eyes.

"Dee, does Daddy not love me?"

Dean's heart sputtered to a stop and he cursed his father for forcing this kind of insecurity on his brother.

"Why would you ask that Sammy?"

Sam mumbled a response, but despite their close proximity Dean couldn't catch it.

"Come on, Sammy. You can tell me anything. Pinky promise."

Sam studied his face just before the tears began to fall down his baby's face.

"Daddy never wants to be home with me, Dee," Sam whispered.

That was all it took for Dean to crush Sam to him and murmur reassurances to his brother. John may not show it all too well, but he loved his boys. Dean was able to tell, but Sam had always been overly sensitive. John just wanted his boys safe and he thought that he could accomplish that by killing the demon and avenging his wife. As Dean comforted his charge he not only vowed to kick John's ass into place, but he swore that he would always be there for Sam—whether the kid wanted him there or not.

As the years faded on, Sam's condition began to worsen. The problem was that no doctor could pinpoint an exact cause for Sam's illnesses. They figured he had a weak constitution and was thus more susceptible to diseases, but there was no specific diagnosis anyone could give Sam. Too often, Sam was just resigned to quality time with his bed and new pills that the doctors were experimenting with to see if they garnered any results.

The days that Sam could get out of bed became fewer and farther between. Not only was Dean worried, but his dad and Uncle Bobby were as well.

It was decided that Bobby would set up a room at his house so that Sam could live there permanently. John began to take on fewer hunts and made an effort to spend more time with his sons.

Sammy—adorable, simple, eight year old Sammy—was ecstatic that their father took the time to be with them. He just didn't seem to understand that his condition was worsening dangerously. Dean kept worrying that one morning he would wake up next to his brother and his baby wouldn't be able to greet the day with him.

Yet, Sam just wanted to get out. Despite everything, Sam was a stubborn little runt. He got bored with books, television, and board games quickly enough—he had read most of Bobby's books and the TV and games could only hold his attention for so long—and just wanted to walk around. He wanted to see Bobby's new puppy. He wanted to walk outside and see the new additions to the salvage yard. But everyone was afraid that anything more than what Sam was already doing could cause more harm than good.

All Sam had of the world was the knowledge he gained from his books and the view outside his window. He was forced to watch the time pass as he was confined to bed with the transformers sheets shoved against the wall. As soon as the day had properly begun, Sam would look at the rays of sunlight streaming through the old panes. Watching his brother, Dean tried to get him engaged in conversation (or at least to eat his damn breakfast).

As Sam grew sicker, he closed up. Dean knew that John had begun to see the hints from Sam's behavior as well, but neither knew what to do.

Sam spent his days with fevers and a raging cough. On good days, Sam could potentially exhibit dizziness, but otherwise be fine. Bad days however—days Dean dreaded—were days where Sam could experience anything from high fevers, extreme nausea, or migraines that were so bad they had to put him on medication that caused Sammy to be slightly loopy.

Dean felt as if he was losing his little brother. September crept into November and the snow began to drift downwards. Sam stared out his window longingly. Finally he asked Dean one day:

"Dean, can we go outside?"

Dean snapped his head up and glared at Sam.

"No," he replied curtly.

Sam pouted, but the effect was ruined as he began coughing. Dean rushed to his side, rubbing his back gently as Sam leant into Dean for support. Feeling guilty, Dean sighed, but there was nothing he could do. Dean wanted to give Sammy the world, but then there was no guarantee he could even give his brother the chance of seeing the next day.

Putting his head next to Sam's, he tried to explain.

"Sammy, I wish I could—you know I do. But I just…I don't want you to get any sicker."

Sam reluctantly nodded and Dean kissed his forehead.

"Maybe some other time, okay?"

He tried to smile. Regarding him closely, Sam asked his brother the question Dean had known Sam would someday ask, but that really didn't make it any easier.

"Dee, am I ever going to get better?"

Dean just wanted to cry. He was twelve years old! Too young for this, but then again he would do anything for his brother.

"Sure, Sammy. Just give it time."

"But, Dean. Dean sometimes it hurts so bad that I feel like I'm going to die."

Dean's heart crushed because he knew Sam wasn't one to exaggerate. Sighing, Dean wrapped his arms around Sam.

"I know, Sammy. Just give it time."

Sam sobbed into his chest.

"Dee, I'm scared."

Dean wanted to cry, too. This was his baby brother. The possibility of losing him was looming closer every day. Instead all he said was, "Sammy, don't be scared. I'll always be with you; you can't get rid of me no matter what."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Sam never got better. It began to near Christmas and Dean knew his brother might be leaving soon.

Dean asked Sam what he wanted for the holiday, but Sam always got quiet and looked out the window. He never answered Dean.

And then Christmas morning was upon them. He lay with Sam and asked Sam if he could have anything at that moment, what would it be?

Sam paused and considered Dean.

"Dee, I just wanna go outside and see the snow," Sam said tiredly.

Dean was scared, but he knew that he had to give Sam at leas this.

"Alright, Sammy."

Sam looked at him in surprise as Dean gathered warmer clothes and got Sam in them. He steadied his brother and together they slowly trudged down the stairs. "There you go Sammy!" Dean would praise Sam as he made his way down on shaky legs from lack of use.

They made it down and Sam was already out of breath so Dean picked up his brother and cradled him in his arms. He managed to pull open the door and they transcended across the wooden porch so that they could sit on the swinging chair and watch the snow fall.

Sam looked peaceful and smiled when a snowflake came and landed on the tip of his nose. The flake melted into a droplet of water and Dean kissed it away.

Sam giggled (a sound Dean hadn't heard in so long) and leaned into Dean. They sat like that for a few minutes before Dean realized Sam's breaths were beginning to slow as if he was falling asleep.

"Thank you, Dee," Sammy suddenly whispered to him. "This was the best day ever. Love you."

Dean laughed nervously and gently pushed at Sam.

"Sammy, the day hasn't even started yet!"

"Mmmm," came the muffled sound.

"Love you, too, baby," Dean finally responded.

Sam smiled just as his eyes began to flutter shut. That was when his breathing stopped altogether.

"Sammy," Dean said gently, though his heart was beating too fast as if to make up for the lack of pulse he was getting from his brother.

"Sammy, you're scaring me. Please, Sammy, wake up! Sammy. Oh God. Sammy. No, no, no."

He shook at his brother, but his body seemed so cold—and why was Sammy so cold? And damn it, come on! Why wasn't Sam breathing? He had to open his eyes! Dean needed Sam. He didn't know if he could do this without Sam—didn't know if he wanted to.

Dean didn't even realize he was screaming and crying until John and Bobby burst outside and took one look at him.

Tears ran down his cheeks and he knew he was still trying to convince Sam to wake up—to come back to him.

"Sammy," his dad choked and cradled Sam's face in his hands. No response.

"Oh God. Sammy. Sammy, I'm so sorry, baby boy. God, my poor baby boy!"

John had pried Sam's body out of Dean's grip and held him gingerly to his chest. All Dean wanted to do was punch John and get his brother back. Sammy was his. Why had his dad taken him away from Dean?

Before he could do anything, Bobby pulled him off the seat and dragged him inside despite his resisting. Bobby was taking him away from his brother! But as much as Dean tried to struggle away, Bobby had his arms around him.

"I'm sorry," Bobby gruffly told him, tears straggling down his face as well, when Dean had finally went limp in his arms.

Squirming away to his freedom, Dean ran to the room he shared with Sam. He collapsed on Sam's bed—more like _their bed _for the amount of times he had ended up sleeping there to comfort Sam—and bawled until he ended up vomiting on the floor. He shoved his hands under Sam's pillow so he could clutch the material close to him and drown himself in his brother's scent, when Dean's hand brushed over a piece of paper. Rubbing at his eyes, he retrieved the folded sheet from under Sam's pillow and clasped it to his chest.

Shakily, he opened it up. On the front was a picture of Sam with a woman in a white gown and golden hair, wings displayed behind her (Mom, Dean's mind supplied).

Turning it to the back, Dean read the chicken scrawl on the back of the sheet:

_Dee,_

_Guess what, Dee? Mommy came to me last night! She talked to me. She was exactly like you said! But she told me I had to come with her soon. I tried to tell her I don't want to leave you, but Mommy smiled and said it was better like this. That you couldn't come with us just yet. But, Dee, I'm going to miss you and Daddy and Uncle Bobby! And if I'm not here, who's going to read stories and talk and snuggle with you? Daddy and Uncle Bobby aren't very good at those things, right, Dee? Dee, I'm scared, but Mommy says it's happy here. I won't be sick there, Dee! I don't want to go, but Mommy says I'll see you again someday. I love you, Dee. Mommy says she loves you and Daddy, too. Bye-bye, Dee._

_Love, _

_Sammy_

Dean clung to the letter and sobbed furiously. He heard footsteps and his father immerged into the room. John sat with Dean and tried to stroke his hair, but Dean shied away from the touch. Handing the letter over to John, John read it all and sobbed with a despairing smile on his face.

Sammy was gone, Dean told himself. Sammy was gone with Mommy.

Dean cried, but he knew he was going to join them soon enough. He wouldn't—couldn't—do this without Sam. John might be devastated by what Dean was planning to do—in the end the last Winchester might even end up accompanying the rest of the family—but Dean couldn't feel it in himself to feel guilty. He went to Uncle Bobby's bathroom, grabbed the gun he kept with him at all times (to protect Sammy). He had a promise to keep.


End file.
